Unfair
by We're All To Blame
Summary: A Cutters story, don't know if there will be other parings. Maybe...
1. Prologue

"Ay! Where are my cheesy poofs? Butters! BUTTERS!"

"Coming, Eric!" I called as I came bustling out of the kitchen. "Here you go!" I said with a cheery smile, handing the junk food over.

"It's about time." He started to shovel it all into his mouth, then stopped and looked over, considering me. "Don't be such a fag, Butters." He said decisively, before turning back to his one 'o clock snack.

"Yes, of course, s-sorry, Eric." I mumbled, sitting down onto the couch next to him. I don't know why he would say that to me- I was only trying to be nice. But that was how Eric Cartman- my boyfriend of almost two years- was. He was a fat-ass, racist neo-Nazi who enjoyed watching kids he hated eat their own parents. He was a manipulative bastard but that was the way I liked him- being himself with no smoke, mirrors or compromises. I suppose he also liked the way that I was as well: gullible, quiet out-of-the-way, willing to do anything he asked me to do Butters Stotch. I was okay with this though. I may get grounded from time to time for doing what he wants, but he always charms them into lessening my punishment. Besides, now I had someone who cared about me outside of the family- even if it's _waaaay_ down in there.

Some people, including my parents, did not like Eric. In fact, they hated him. Kenny McCormick, Stan Marsh, and Kyle Broflovski constantly told me that Eric like to abuse and take advantage of me.

I knew he loved me though. It showed little things he did for me such as allowing me to give him hugs in public (even though he made sure it was brief and that no one was watching). Or when he let me have the very last cheesy poof if I was sent to bed without dinner, however rare he did that. Oh, and he even let me give him my ideas on his plans once…although, he didn't use them because they were "inadequate."

I suppose this would be the naiveté that would lead to my downfall and the loss of my gullibility.


	2. Chapter 1

"Why do you let him push you around. I just- I don't understand that." Of course he wouldn't; he'd been fighting against Eric since the day they'd met.

"W-well, Kyle, I just… enjoy doing things he- he asks me to on account-a… it makes him happy. W-when he's happy, so am I." Kyle just rolled his eyes and continued working on his art project.

Not much had changed since we were eight; Eric, Kyle, Stan and Kenny still goofed off during (and hated) art class.

Now, however, Kyle was under his mother's eye, for she remembered all too well the embarrassment of finding out that her son had TPed a teacher's house. I personally didn't understand how you could hate a class like art class- it was _so_ fun!

The project was to create a piece of artwork that encased in a work of nature and captured our personalities and favorite colors and such. Kyle's was a pumpkin; green, orange, and fall were among his favorite things. Eric had joked that he chose the autumn symbol because it was hollow and soulless on the inside- "Just like a Jew." This had earned him a hard punch in his baby-face. _My_ project had a fluffy, blue-eyed snow bunny. I enjoy white Christmases, and unlike most of my classmates, I had grown to like eating my veggies. Once again, Eric had something to say, making a comment about me being gay again. I always thought it was weird he would say that at least once a day since _he_ was my _boyfriend_.

"Hey, Butters," on my other side, Kenny McCormick caught my attention.

"Oh! H-hiya, Kenny!" I said nervously. Kenny's project used to include orange… breasts… but he had to change it because it was inappropriate. Honestly, I felt as though anyone could've told him that- in fact, I tried! Kenny had only looked at me and said with a wink, "Ah, but you see, Buttercup, there isn't anything wrong about appreciating the human body; everyone knew that in the Renaissance!" In the end, he changed it to a drawing of an effeminate fox "posing." Eric had gotten a huge kick out of both of Kenny's pictures. I, however, was less than amused because I thought Kenny had more than exceptional talent in art and I think he only goofed off to humor his friends.

"What's this I hear about Cartman pushing you around. Aren't you two together? Do you need me to rough him up a bit?" He asked with another wink. Everyone in the school knew Kenny McCormick was a bisexual- with a sure preference for girls, of course. The type of guy he went after was typically ones leaning toward the feminine side. According to Eric and Kenny, those were people like me.

"Kenny, you know that E-Eric doesn't like w-when you do that. And I like doing what he says, it-"

"Mr. Stotch and Mr. McCormick! Do you have something to share, or do you just find art class boring?"

"Oh hamburgers…" I mumbled. Kenny, on the other hand, didn't skip a beat.

"Miss Gold, of course not; Butters was simply reminding me what some of the conditions of our projects were." He batted his hazel-blue eyes. He had ditched the hood covering most of his face once he realized he could get almost anything with those unique eyes. He earned a roll from Miss Gold's own orbs behind her spectacles.

"Get back to your work and do not disturb my class again or it's detention for the both of you." She stated coldly before walking back to her desk.

"I wouldn't mind serving one of her detentions, me-_ow_." Kenny wiggled his eyebrows and winked again with a smile playing on his lips. She was a great example of the type of _women_ he went after: well endowed in the chest area, a great smile, and a feisty attitude.

I only turned back to my project and considered my coloring options. If I used a dark blue at the top, I could gradually make the blues lighter toward the bottom until-

"Hey, Butterlips?"

"What?" I asked, a bit too loudly. When everyone turned to look, including Miss Gold, I shrank into my seat. "Uh-oh…"

"Oh no! M-my parents are gonna be awful sore once they found out about my detention; why, I reckon that I'll be gr-grounded forever!" I moaned, shaking my head despairingly.

"Never fear, Butters, old chap!" Pip Pirrip consoled. "I'm sure they'll understand if you explain." We both knew this wouldn't be the case, however. So we walked to my house in a solemn silence, both dreading the punishment to come.


	3. Chapter 2

"Butters, you are grounded!"

"Go to your room right now, young man!"

I soberly waved so long to Pip and began the journey up to my room, my parents' voices still behind me.

"What should we do, Stephen? Sometimes I wonder if he's really learning his lesson anymore."

"Don't worry, Linda, he'll come around. This is how I was raised, and my father, and his and so forth. The thing about tradition is that it works…" My father's words were cut off as I shut my bedroom door.

I looked around for something to do once my homework was done; I found nothing except for my old toys and my computer (which I was grounded from). _Oh, goody. I can play with my stuffed animals like a young child, playing games such as House, My Wedding Day, School, and The Revenge of Professor Chaos!_ I thought bitterly, then sighed; it wasn't like me to be so cynical but, dang it, I was madder than mad!

I sighed again and noticed my school notebook topping the pile of schoolwork on my desk. I wandered over and uninterestedly flipped through it. I had just started to doodle and silly notes inside when I heard something small slap against my window glass.

I looked up, surprised until I saw Eric's face leering at me through the glass. I walked over to the window and opened the it saying, "W-what are you doing here? If m-my parents see you, why, we'll both be in b-big trouble!"

"What do you think I'm doing here?" He snapped. "I'm busting you out, babe!"

My eyes widened considerably. "B-b-but why?" This wasn't like him at all; he laughed and scolded me for not "learning how to get away with stuff." He'd always thought I got what I deserved if I couldn't get away with it.

"I feel bad about Kenny getting you grounded so we're going to go and TP his house," Eric grinned. "It's gonna be _sweet_."

"Oh, I don't know, Eric," I pleaded, "he didn't mean to…to get me into tr-trouble; it was my fault for being so wild." I knitted my eyebrows at my behavior.

"Are you coming or not, Butters? I don't have time to sit here all day." Eric rolled his eyes again and gave me a pointed look much like the one I received from almost everyone except Pip.

"I-I don't know, Eric- m-my parents are…are _awful_ sore right now, and-"

"Oh, come _on_, Butters! Where's your sense of fun? I'm _dying_ here! Doesn't my boyfriend want to spend time with me?" He pouted.

I bit my lip and considered. "Well, of…of course I want to spend t-time with you, Eric…" I said slowly.

"Then come on!" The brunette in front of me enthused. He disappeared from my view as he climbed back down the side of the house. I bit my lip again and debated whether or not it would be worth it in the long run to follow Eric out the window and disobey my parents' wishes.

After a moment I heard my boyfriend call in a loud whisper, "are coming, Butters?" I scampered down out of the window and down the thick rope Eric had waiting for me.

As I hurried down the street with Eric howling with laughter at my side, I heard my dad shouting at me in disbelief that I would "break out." I was dead for sure.


	4. Chapter 3

"So were do you want to go, Butters?" He asked once he'd slowed down to a low chuckle.

"Um…" I remembered that we were supposed to put toilet paper all over Kenny's house, but I also recalled that wasn't very nice either. "I'm not sure. W-what about you, E-Eric?"

"I don't know- let's hang out at my house?" Eric suggested in his "respect-my-authoritah" tone.

"W-well…sure, Eric. I s'pose we could." I preferred not to complicate things by arguing or going against anyone especially my own boyfriend who fed a kid's parents to him. I guessed I would have exclude my own parents after the stunt I pulled.

When we arrived, Eric barreled through the door and settled down on the couch and I noticed Mrs. Cartman walking through the kitchen door into the living room with a fresh batch of cookies. "Well, hello, Butters," she greeted in her soft, mothering voice. "Would you like some cookies? I wasn't expecting you over or I would have made more- Linda said you weren't allowed out today; guess she changed her mind." She smiled.

Eric grunted. "She sure did. Mom, where are my cookies and cheesy poofs? I'm starving!"

"Right here, sweetie!" His mother said in a sing-song voice. She set the plate of cookies in front of her son along with two large bags of cheesy poofs. Then she looked pointedly at me.

"Uh, no thanks, ma'am- my parents say that eating snacks will ruin my appetite…" I trailed off as I realized she'd already gone back into the kitchen to make more for me. I sighed and sat down next to Eric who had turned the TV to the channel that Terrance and Phillip were on. He was currently laughing at fart jokes I had to find as a little juvenile and immature, but he was my Eric.

"So, uh, E-Eric," I don't know why I still stuttered horribly around Eric and our friends when I had gone out with him for two years, but I supposed it was the excitement that would break my words and syllables. "What do you want to…to do?"

He sent me a sharp look as if it were obvious- and it probably was. "I'm watching Terrance and Phillip, Butters; that's what _I_ want to do." He turned his attention back to the television and laughed nearly spraying cookie bits _and_ cheesy poofs all over his mother's nice couch.

I admit that I was a little annoyed when I was jilted by my own boyfriend for a damn _TV show_, but I couldn't think of a time since our adventure to Super Phun Thyme, that I'd spoken against him. He was my teddy bear, and everyone has their own faults, right?

So watching the television with my "beau" was only interrupted by Mrs. Cartman bringing me my un wanted snack (or, should I say _meal_), and my own tentative thoughts about Eric and mine's relationship.

Perhaps it was time to say goodbye…?

"AY! I'm talking to you, you black asshole!" Eric yelled faintly, his accent growing even thicker.

"I-I'm sorry," I drew my eyes to the floor, "what were you-you tr-trying to say, Eric?"

He sighed heavily, clearly annoyed at my ignorance. "I was talking about a joke from the show. Don't worry about it, Butters; it's not funny anymore." He returned his large form to the front, facing his favorite show once more. I felt immeasurably guilty as I repeated his motion. Why couldn't I _do anything_ right?

I guessed I deserved his emotional seeing as most of it _was_ true, just as my parents _were_ in the right to punish me as often as they did. I needed to learn the harsh reality that was the real world and step out if myself or I'd never do anything right.

I guessed I was only a dreamer whose fantasies were only delusional nightmares. But what would a dreamer be without his sick, twisted visions?


	5. Chapter 4

As soon as I arrived back home, I was chewed out by my father with my mom proclaiming agreements from over his shoulder. I was sent back to my room with the warning that if I did it again, they would lock me in The Bad Room.

The Bad Room was a room in the basement without windows, and a door that was locked with seven lock on the outside. I wasn't sure it they would actually do it or not considering they hadn't before, but then again, they'd never threatened it either. My family had lived in this very house for quite a few generations, and either my grandfather or my great-grandfather had added the Room in case _his_ son was horrid. Dad said it's never been used, but I've seen the way he looks at it each time he passes- with a tortured, haunted look in his eyes.

I laid down on my bed and stared at the ceiling seeing as all my papers for writing and drawing, and all of my other "creative" things were missing from the room; a more severe punishment than mere hours ago. Just as I was beginning to memorize all of the valleys and ridges that were designed into it, my mother walked in and sat down on the foot of my bed.

"Hey, Mom." I said, half-disinterested and half-cautious.

"Butters, I think we need to talk." She said, watching for "wilding out" and other ill signs of misbehavior.

"Okay." I said, turning my head to face her.

"With you father included, of course," she studied my face and body language once more, and when I offered no response, she continued with, "follow me downstairs, please."

I pushed myself off of (and out of) my comforting haven and with her to the living room where my father was ultimately waiting.

"Butters," he started seriously, "we have to talk to you about that boyfriend of yours, Eric Cartman."

That was the nice thing about my parents- they were no longer homophobic about my actions after the incident at the Bi-curious camp they'd sent me to when I was nine. Now the only issue was whether or not I was dating a "good kid," someone who would be a good influence on my behavioral habits.

Of course, Eric had screwed up any pleasant thoughts they had had of him once he had decided to steal me out of my bedroom.

"W-what about him?" I was, for once, hoping for a lecture instead of the decision I could only assume they'd made.

"We thought that perhaps it was a good idea to let you date him; you could change his ways. You know- calm his behavior down a bit-" my mother began.

"But you've been dragged down with him full force. You've been acting up in class and getting detentions, and skipping out on your punishments. It was bad enough when you'd spent those months in elementary school as his replacement friend. Now it seems as though he has complete control over your actions." Dad finished.

I decided against telling them that Eric and the others had also been the reason behind Professor Chaos on account-a they still didn't know that was me.

"Golly, I-I'm awful sorry; I didn't mean to…to upset you." I mumbled, brushing my knuckles together, as was my nervous habit.

My father sighed. That wasn't his usual response to my antics; he typically would shout and tell me I was grounded after reminding me of the rules. He looked really tired.

"We aren't mad of upset with you, Butters," he told me. My eyes widened inside their sockets and I had to hold back a grin. "However, we _are_ very disappointed, and expected better from you. I even had to threaten The Bad Room which I have never done before!"

"Does this mean that me a-and Eric can't…see each other-anymore?" I wasn't afraid of their answer and I was terrified of the reason behind that thought.

"If you can't shape him or yourself up, then we'll have to seek an end to your relationship, understand?"

"Y-yes Sir…" I murmured, ready to go back to my room. Why wasn't I relieved? Why did I feel worse after his verdict?

"Go on, Son, go back to your room."

As I hurried tiredly up the stairs, I once again caught a conversation unintended for my ears. "Do you think he'll respond like we hope, Stephen?"

"I don't know, Linda. I don't know."


	6. Chapter 5

I closed the bedroom door and fell against it, closing my eyes. All of the factors in my life were becoming very exhausting. If I wasn't with Eric, then Kyle was telling me to stand up to Eric. If Kyle wasn't telling me not to be such a "Melvin," then Kenny was constantly hitting on me. If Kenny wasn't flirting with me, then Stan was berating him for it in the first place. If that wasn't going on and I was at home, then _I_ was being berated and grounded for something Eric had me do. If I wasn't being grounded, then I was with Eric, and so the never-ending circle continued. As I said, my life was all together tiring. I couldn't see a way to keep everyone- including myself happy; there seemed to be no way to win.

Sitting in front of the door with my knees pulled up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them, I felt as though being grounded wasn't such a punishment for my behavioral sins, as much as it was a blessing. I'd come to enjoy it because it was the only time I had to myself to relax and do what I wanted to do. Usually, I chose drawing or other variations of art creativity, but now I had to think of a way to fix my problems so that I wouldn't ostracize myself from my friends and family forever. I guessed that the place to start would be a reflection of the beginning of all of them and work through them step-by-step.

I was so engrossed in solving my problems that I failed to notice my thoughts becoming hazy as I slowly drifting away from my state of consciousness.


	7. Chapter 6

I felt the strange sensation I always seem to get when I dream. The kind of feeling that usually means I'm outside of my own body. Observing and analyzing, but not seeing. Able to manipulate events and happenings, but without my own tangible, physical presence.

I watched a shy blond walk down the school hallway alone, nervous stuttering would been noticed if anyone happened to glance his way. After gaining the supplies from his locker, I noticed how he cautiously and gently closed it as though considering the emotional feelings of the cold metal before him. As soon as he had though, a face and body towered over him, seeming to leer down at this small frame.

"Mornin', Butters." His brown eyes grinned suspiciously and impishly.

"G-good morning, Eric." "I" returned, mumbling. "H-how are you to-today…?" Cartman's largely obese body stepped closer as my dream-self attempted to make it to homeroom, blocking the path.

"Where're you hurryin' off to, beautiful?" He grinned even more as both (including myself, as intangible as I was) blonds listening to him blushed ferociously. I'd had a crush on him for years (that, and my extremely low confidence level contributed to my inability to say no to him), and now it seemed as though he was flirting with me. Why then, when he had first appeared on the scene, had I described, and therefore reacted, in such a negative way? Could I possibly be angry with him? What reason did I have? I couldn't dwell on those questions long enough to give myself a proper and satisfactory answer as "Butters" walked away from Eric with a huge smile on his face, appearing not to mind that he was now late for Homeroom with Miss Iriis.

My eyes must have been rotating fiercely behind my eyelids in my room, as the scene before my twisted and changed.

Now I was peering at one Kyle Broflovski and Misters Stan Marsh and Kenny McCormick all trying to talk to "me" at the same moment as one another.

"Don't you realize he's a fat-ass, racist, Jew-hating neo-Nazi?"

"Does this mean you're off the market, Butters-baby? Because if so, it only makes you all the more desirable."

"Stop winking at flirting, Kenny! He's not interested in what little romance you stand to offer him!"

"I mean _really_, Butters, what were you _thinking_?"

"Oh, geez. I-I'm sorry, Kyle. I didn't mean to…to make you upset…"

"Because you're naivete and innocence already made you like, _oh_. But not that you've got a man on your arm that boosts you to an, _oooohh_!"

"I mean it, Kenny, knock it off! Shut up because I'm not playing this game!"

"Calm down, baby; I've still got _luuurve_ for you, _Staaan_."

"SHUT UP!"

"I guess it's fine, Butters, but you've got to be careful. Eric Cartman is not someone to hang around with lightly."

"What? Screw you, guys, me and Butters are goin' home!"

"It's Butters and _I_, moron! And you two don't even _live_ together!"

"Shut up, Jew! It's my life and boyfriend; I'll do what I want…!"

Once again my dream scene, unconcerned with Kyle's angry shouts and "my" nervous pleas, faded I took this time to consider what my subconscious had replayed for my study and benefit.

Had Kyle truly been caring about _my_ wellbeing when he'd been scolding my decision? Or was he simply hurt that I had disregarded all of the racism Eric had shown him and Token Black? Did Stan like Kenny? It had never occurred to me before but watching the scene unfold again made me believe I'd missed a few subliminal messages. And what of Kenny? Did he feel the same way about Stan and teased me simply to gain his attention? Or did Kenny really not care for Stan romantically, or was only oblivious to Stan's possible affections? The more I dwelt on and deliberated it, the more confusing it became.

The reeling vortex finally stopped and I could focus on seeing "Butters" attempting to gain the attention of and converse with Eric, but the larger was busy with watching television and not with sharing thoughts or feelings with his boyfriend.

Eventually, "Butters" gave up and silently watched alongside Eric. Although I already remembered that Eric would grunt after a moment and wrap one arm around "my" shoulder, and I would be satisfied with that, I noticed that _I_ did not feel the same as my dream counterpart.

As the convolution started up again, I felt a wave of nausea crash over me as I was drawn into it while simultaneously an annoyingly repeated sound came to my ears…

**BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!** My alarm clock sounded off like an angry drill sergeant screaming next to my head.

'_Well,_' I thought tiredly as I shut off the rest-wrecker, '_time to go back to real life._'


	8. Chapter 7

'I shoved my hand down on the offending clock rather rudely. It retaliated by biting me and sending a bullet of pain searing a course through my arm. I reluctantly get up from my cozy and comfortable bed to the bathroom conveniently adjacent to my room.

After an awkward and silent breakfast with Mom and Dad, I hurried out to the bus stop, afraid that I would miss the yellow carriage. As I walked, I pondered what on earth my dream could've meant (which is not uncommon as I usually like to find positive message in it and apply it to my day). I didn't return from my daze until I heard an enthusiastic, "Hey, Buttercup!" Surprised, I blinked to find Kenny's left eye winking at me a split second before Eric's fist collided with it. Stan only glared at Kenny with a disapproving eye, while Kyle turned to me.

"Butters? What are you doing at our us stop?" He asked me with a curious look. I brushed my knuckles together nervously whilst simultaneously giving him a small, shy smile per usual.

"Oh, I-"

"He _obviously _wanted to see his sexy boyfriend first thing in the morning." Eric snapped, rubbing his rather healthy stomach. Kyle rolled his bored, green eyes.

"Shut up, Cartman; as if there's anything sexy about_ your_ fat-ass body."

"Ay! I'm not fat, I'm big-boned! Besides, he _likes_ my pudge, don't you Butters?"

"Well, I-"

"Of course not!" Kyle spat.

They continued their argument even as the bus pulled up to the stop, yelling and spitting at each other as they clambered up the steps. Kenny followed as Stan roughly pushed him in, and timidly I began to make my way to seat beside Eric. He, however, was still engrossed in his tiff with Kyle and had even chosen the seat next to the angry Jew, so I decided to take the one behind him and be by myself. It wasn't long, though, before Kenny and Stan, both sitting across the aisle from me, had noticed my pensive mood.

"What're you thinking about, Butters?" Stan questioned, shoving away Kenny's apparently bothersome face. (Were they fighting too?)

"N-nothing in… particular, S-Stan. I was just… n-never m-mind." Maybe they needed help finding time to talk about and solve their differences…? Then, I would find a way for them!

I walked into the high school with a determined facial expression.

Homeroom was passing by on an untroubled breeze. No one I knew from previous years shared this "class" with me with the exception of three boys: Stan, Clyde Donovan, and Craig Tucker. Homeroom was a time when I could draw quietly and hope to the good Lord Jesus that Stan wouldn't be on a "get Butters away from Cartman" mission operation for Kyle, Clyde or Token (though, Craig would usually tell them that my decisions were my own). I was currently coloring a picture of a bunny that Kenny had drawn for me. I had thanked him for hid kind generosity, but I'm still not quite sure why Eric had slugged him for it.

Adding color to his picture, I watched the clock rhythmically, anxiously awaiting fifth period Art, my favorite class of the day (insert a happy "smiley" face).

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. We all turned our heads because there had never been an interruption during Homeroom before- it was too unimportant. Mr. Garrison (yes, _Mr._ Garrison- he had recently come back from his ninth Mrs. Garrison relapse, and then followed us into high school) went to the door.

"I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my class, Mr. Mackey." Mr. Garrison liked to get short with people by pretending that Homeroom holds important life lessons for us all.

"We have a new transfer from Denver, mmkay? Mmkay, his name is…."

I stopped paying attention, not because I cared about the new student any less, but because I had Choir next and Mrs. Thompson tended to have an _awful _temper if I attempted anything art-related in her class. In fact, I was so focused on my coloring that I didn't hear a thing around me until Garrrison began to shout.

"Butters, you retard! Are you listening to me? I said give our new little weirdo a warm welcome!"

"H-hello." I mumbled, still looking at my desk.

"Hey, Butters." A familiar, albeit deeper, voice said in an equally shy tone.

My head snapped up as I realized who it was speaking to me. "Bradley?" I squeaked. I blushed as everyone laughed at the pitch I'd made, and Garrison said, "Well, since you two seem to know each other, you can sit next to one another. But don't let him rub off on you, Bradley; I don't need more than _one_ fag in my classroom."

My flushed face became an even redder shade as laughter roared throughout the classroom and Garrison smirked. Bradley's fists clenched so tightly I worried blood vessels would burst as his face turned a scarlet hue to put my own to shame. "Don't listen to them, Butters. It's like you made me realize eight years ago: there's nothing wrong with liking guys." He muttered as he took his seat next to mine.

Once the tense air between the two of us had dissipated and a few students had been hit with Garrison's verbal tranquilizer gun, everything calmed down and returned to normal. Bradley and I excitedly caught up on the eight years we'd missed in each other's lives. When I asked to look at his schedule, I saw that though we had Homeroom and lunch together, none of our classes were at the same period.

"Oh…." I sighed. He placed a hand on my shoulder comfortingly.

"At least we have Homeroom and lunch together." Bradley smiled. I looked up and couldn't help but smile back at him.

"Y-yeah."

Just then, the bell rang and it was time to go to Choir.


	9. Chapter 8

I couldn't tell if it was the normalcy of the day after Homeroom, or perhaps because I missed Bradley (maybe it was a mixture of the two?), but I felt bad in an "I'm sad" kind of way.

All I was sure of at the moment was that I hated Choir class. Don't get me wrong, I liked singing. But sometimes no one cared to listen, and other times it seemed as though Miss Thompson wasn't being exactly fair with who sang the solo songs. But I supposed as long as I was taking a class that I "enjoyed" it was okay.

I arrived and entered the room to find only three people I knew inside the classroom: Kevin Stoley, Bebe Stevens, and Pip. Kevin and Bebe were sitting next to each other, Kevin whispering unimportant and easily forgotten nothings into her ear. Bebe giggled and playfully swatted her boyfriend's arm once in side-tracked whiles. She claimed to be in love with Kevin (they'd been going out for five years), and maybe she was, but everyone knew she still wanted Kyle and his "great ass." She'd only taken this class because he was, and Kevin for her.

Maybe Kevin knew this sea of betrayal was waiting to drag him under, if only Kyle decided to take Bebe upo in her unspoken offer. Perhaps he didn't, and could relate to the old song "When Your Heart's On Fire (Smoke Gets In Your Eyes)."

I took my seat next to Pip, both of us being Tenor I's- we could choose our own seats as long as they were within our sections.

"'Ello, Butters." He greeted, happy to have someone to talk to besides Kevin and Bebe.

"H-hiya, Pip." I said sullenly. Then I mentally smacked my forehead. I didn't want to pull Pip into my "emo" problems.

"Wot's wrong, Butters?" He asked, concerned. Too late.

So I ended up telling him about the time Eric got me sent to that bi-curious camp and how I met my accountabil-a-buddy," Bradley. Naturally, I told him about when he'd attempted to throw himself over the bridge for being an "unfixable abomination," and how I'd talked him out of it with my speech to my counselors and father about being confused.

Pip listened to my story with wide, understanding eyes, nodding every so often at the appropriate times.

"'Golly, Butters," he said finally, "I had no idea you 'ad went to a camp loike thot!" Then a sly smile, uncharacteristic for Pip, came over his usually soft features. "So… wot's 'e loike?"

"Pip!" I scolded, much like my parents," you aren't t-talking about m-me _liking_ him are… are you?"

"Why not?" Pip huffed. '"E sounds a lot better than that bloody arse'ole of a boyfriend you've got now." He said, blushing at the curse words he'd used.

I blushed as well. "Eric isn't as- as bad as all that. "At his face, I continued, "he's just… against PDA, and… and doesn't want to- to show his true co- colors to everyone else just y-yet."

Pip seemed unimpressed. "Butters, you've been going out with 'im- wot?- two years? Don't you think it's toime fo' 'im to let of 'is in'ibitions?

"Well, uh-" I guess I hadn't really been paying attention to the time going by, because just then the bell rang and I noticed my other classmates (including Kyle, Wendy Testaburger, and Dogpoo) were sitting in their seats.

"Alright, class, we have a play coming up that we doing with Mrs. Bennan's theater class. Does anyone know what it is?" Miss Thompson asked us sweetly. Wendy's hand shot up along with Bebe's, the former intending to impress her ex, Stan, the latter intending to impress his super-best-friend Kyle who, currently, was paying her no attention (they shared 6th period theater).

"Anyone?" Her hawk-like eyes swept over us, looking either for the child who looked least likely to know the answer, or to answer the question herself (she was known to be a huge fan of both options). Bebe looked as though she were about to fall out of her chair, she was leaning forward so far. "No one? How disappointing…"₁ Miss Thompson smiled as she watched Bebe hand fall, cut down by the sword of Defeat.

"The play is _The Phantom of the Opera_, and we will be performing with Mrs. Bennan's first hour. So, everyone take a piece of music and pass it on…"


	10. Chapter 9

The rest of Choir passed without much fuss -except for Kyle going to the nurse with a black eye, after Kevin punched him when Bebe "accidently" brushed her… _chest_ against the back of his head. Bebe was currently giving Kevin the cold shoulder in stony silence, while he attempted to apologize for hitting her friend (a perfect excuse for her melodramatic reaction while Kyle was conveniently unable to correct the error). Yet, unfortunately for Kevin, the bell rang before he could get her to forgive him.

I walked alongside Pip toward the day's next class: Pre-AP Algebra II. It was taught by Miss Iriis and also happened to be one of the worst classes of the day for me- along with Physical Education. I had very little skills when it came to mathematics and -to make matters worse- my parents had had me sign up for all AP classes to get academic scholarships and such. And that would be okay if it weren't for my inability to behave and my stupid, not-so-smart brain. It wasn't all bad, though. It put me in a lot of classes with Kyle, and he was a big help with understanding everything and stuff.

Anyway, we've just gotten into factoring which is basically taking the answer to a multiplication problem and then working background to find the original equation. It doesn't even sound simple or easy and then add an unintelligent brain, multiply it by stress over homework in other classes, and subtract any time off besides meals and sleeping and it equals… well, you get the idea….

"Butters? Butters, pay attention." Miss Iriis scolded harshly. "Unless you want to teach the class today's lesson?" I shrunk a little into my seat when everybody's eyes started staring at me.

"No, Miss Iriis…."

I need to learn how to behave.

"Alright, class, homework for today will be pages 51 through 54, numbers 1 through 13- odd numbers, 22, 25, and 27; 33, 34 and 44, 56 and 74. Class dismissed!" She called over the ringing alarm bell as we rushed to gather our things and get to another class as quickly as possible. "And Butters?" I looked up and everything fell out of my hands. "Don't daydream anymore- it's why you're struggling."

Walking into AP US History, or APUSH as Mr. Hill¹ likes to call it, I noticed Eric had saved a seat just as the tardy bell rang. Rule is, if the bell rings and you aren't in your seat, you're late- period. Hamburgers.

I noticed Mr. Hill look up from his notes and give me a stern but amused expression. "Late are we, Butters? Sit down, we've got a 'new government' experience to talk about."

Out of all my teachers, I liked Mr. Hill the most. His humor was (somewhat) harmlessly sarcastic, and through he taught a fast-paced Advanced Placement class, it was relatively easy to pass with the amount of notes we took. Plus, the homework assignments were almost like Guided Readings and were real easy to find in the textbook.

I sat next to Eric who glanced over at Kyle and Token Black, smirking as though he were winning some unspoken battle. I wasn't sure what it was about, but had a strange feeling that I should.

"We left off with the founding fathers creating a new government through the Articles of Confederation. Now, before we get into the notes, can anyone guess as to why giving more power to the _individual_ states instead of the growing nation as a _whole_, might create problems for the country as far as keeping it unified? Yes, Token…?"

The bell rang, and everyone wrote down the inevitable homework for class the next day: reading pages 172-189, writing questions or observations from them in our dialectical journals, and completing four worksheets over the pages as well.

As we were herded out the door toward the cafeteria by stampeding students, Eric let out a loud yawn chased by an even louder sigh. "I hate having an AP class; too much homework that takes up my free time. I can feel it weighing my messenger bag down already."

"The only thing weighing you down is your _weight_, fatass." Kyle countered while rolling his eyes. This earned snickers from Stan, Kenny, and Token; an angry yelp of "Ay!" was heard from Eric. We found a table to set our stuff down on, and- once again- I was the one voted on to watch everything while they got a good place in line. I didn't mind though- I usually used this time to doodle in my notebook, or drawing a landscape or portrait in my sketchbook anyway.

"Hey, Butters." A friendly and familiar voice said from above me.

My head shot up and I gave my old friend a warm smile. "H-hiya, Bradley! How are you l-liking your… classes so far?"

"Great!" He enthused, sitting across from me. "I especially enjoy what we're learning in Psychology for the next week- nature verses nurture. It's a debate about whether or not your personality comes from genetics or environment."

"That's sounds so… so cool; I w-wanted to take that class, but I… didn't have enough… room in my s-schedule." Brushing my knuckles, I looked from him to the drawing I'd been working on previous, anxious to get back to it, but also secretly wishing he'd ask about my passion.

"What are you creating there, Michelangelo?" Bradley teased me, smiling gently. As I glanced up to answer, I noticed Pip headed over with his plate of fish and chips in his hands.

"Hiya, Pip." I greeted, nervously considering what Pip might say to Bradley about our "talk" earlier.

"'Ello, Bu''ers," Pip returned, smiling as he eyed Bradley curiously before sitting next to him. "'Oos's this chap?"

"This is Br-Bradley." I murmured lowly.

As I'd dreaded, Pip's eyes and smile became predictably mischievous. "Hm." He toned, turning toward the third blond beside us to give him his full attention. " Name's Pip. Bu''ers' told me a_ lot_ about you." He emphasized by winking.

Bradley eyes widened a fraction as he turned to me while still addressing Pip. "Really? What did he say; something about how attractive I am I hope!" As Pip and Bradley laughed easily as though it _weren't_ their first meeting, I gave an odd little twitter and thought about Bradley's joke. Looking back, I probably thought about it a little too hard.

They say life is full is full of "what if's"- at least, my parents do. And my situation was no different. What if Bradley hadn't made that joke? Would I be thinking about the answer so hard? What if Eric had been sitting at the table before Bradley had sat down? What is he'd invited me to stand next to him in the line? Or if he'd shown me more affection then should be remotely appropriate for two teenage boys?

If he had, then everything might have turned out differently for all of us.

* * *

**1: My APUSH teacher in my junior year of high school. He always made sure that we knew what we needed to know to pass the AP test, and that we developed a respect for history (in fact, I'm majoring in it now that I'm in college XD). **


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